Moments in Time
by Shadow-ofthe-Night35
Summary: Four moments that detail the development of the love of Spot and Styx. SpotxOC, Implied character death.
1. Happenstance

**A/N:** These chapters are four moments in the love story of Spot and Styx. I hope you enjoy them. _Disclaimer_: I do not own Newsies, Spot Conlon, Matchbox20's song "The Difference." I just borrow them :)

**Happenstance **

_Day breaking on the boulevard_

_Feel the sun warming up your secondhand heart_

_Light swimming right across your face _

_And you think maybe someday_

—Matchbox20: "The Difference"—

It was cold in the morning before the sun rose, but Styx didn't mind. She was used to it. It was her favorite time of day, when the sky was pale and colorless, just before it burst into flame—gold and red and pink and blue. It was when she could see the fog rising off the harbor, glittering as it waited for the sun to rise and tear it to wisps, winding between the buildings. She loved to watch the shreds of fog, long pale fingers of mist, stretching across the golden sun, reaching for warmth it was always denied. Every morning it was carried away on the wind before it could grasp the rays of molten gold flowing from the sun.

Sometimes she felt like the fog: always reaching, always swept away before she could touch the warmth she wanted. She could not reach the love hidden deep inside him no matter how hard she tried. His sun was too bright, too warm, and he burned her away before she had the chance to reach him.

It was cold in the morning before the sun rose, but she didn't mind. She climbed to the roof anyway, ignoring the last few stars that remained resolutely in the predawn light. She curled up against the chimney, wrapped her arms around her knees and watched the sun rise over Brooklyn, wondering how long it would take for that golden, morning light to dry her tears.

-----

It was cold in the morning before the sun rose, but Spot didn't mind. He was used to it. It was his favorite time of day, when the sky was pale and colorless, just before it burst into flame—gold and red and pink and blue. It was when he could see the smoke rising from the chimneys, dark against the paleness of the sky, smothering the light in black clouds. He loved to watch the columns of smoke, thick snakes of cloud, streaking across the golden sun, staining across the perfection it was always denied. Every morning it blotted out the new light, covering the beauty with dirt and grime, not allowing the sun to shine through.

Sometimes he felt like the smoke: always reaching, always smothering the light in her before she could truly shine. He kept overshadowing her, her perfection and beauty, no matter how hard he tried not to. His darkness was too solid, too consuming, and he marred her perfection before he had the chance to admire it.

It was cold in the morning before the sun rose, but he didn't mind. He climbed to the roof anyway, ignoring the last few stars that remained resolutely in the predawn light. He sat on the top rung of the fire escape, leaned on the half-wall that encircled the roof and watched the sun rise over Brooklyn, wondering how long it would take for that golden, morning light to dry his tears.

-----

Every morning they sat not ten feet from each other, crying in the dawn. Each of them was able to stop the pain of the other if they'd only known it was there.


	2. Falling

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Newsies, Spot Conlon, Frank Sinatra's song "The Way you Look Tonight." I just borrow them.

**Falling**

_Lovely, never ever change_

_Keep that breathless charm_

_Won't you please arrange it?_

'_Cos I love you, just the way you look tonight_

—Frank Sinatra: "The Way you Look Tonight"—

It was raining in the streets of Brooklyn when they realised how much they loved each other. Styx was standing on the roof of the Lodging House, soaking in the rain when Spot climbed over the low wall from the fire escape. She was shivering in the stiff, cold wind that accompanied the rain. He realised he wanted to keep her warm, just as an excuse to stand beside her and wrap his arms around her. His hair was plastered in dark blond strands across his pale face, lashed there by the rain. She realised she wanted to brush those soft strands away, just as an excuse to touch him. But they were scared.

She jumped when a peal of thunder shook the sky, and he reached out a hand to her, involuntarily, wanting to comfort her. He hesitantly, gently wrapped his arms around her as she continued to shiver. She met his eyes as she tucked the wet strands of hair behind his ears, breathing in the sweet scent of his breath. She turned her face to his chest when the thunder sounded again. She heard him whisper three little words that were almost swallowed up by the thunder, washed away in the rain.

His fingers crept under her chin and tilted her head back. He was smiling, but it wasn't his usual cocky, mocking one. This one was pure, and beautiful. She almost forgot to breathe when he kissed her.

He smiled against her lips and curled a hand around the back of her neck, cradling her against him. He pulled away, but she kept her eyes closed. She rested her ear against his chest and listened to the beauty of his heartbeat, its steady, comforting rhythm. He began to sway to that almost silent melody, and she followed his lead. He could not remember ever dancing in the rain before. Now, he was sure he would never forget it. He never wanted this moment to end.

Eventually, the rain stopped, but they never grew weary of dancing. And the three little words that had been caught in the wind were blown back, and he whispered them in her ear every day. She whispered them to his heart when he held her so tightly it hurt to let go. And people grew used to the idea of there being a queen in Brooklyn who was never far from her king. And he smiled more, and she danced more, to the rhythm only they heard. And they never forgot that moment, and they were never a moment apart.

No one ever asked what the three little words were, but everyone guessed. But all good things must pass, and every moment fades, even if they are rooted in "I love you."


	3. Relentlessly

**A/N: **This is actually the original story, and I wrote the other three around this one, which seemed lonely on its own. _Disclaimer_: I do not own Newsies, Spot Conlon, The Calling's song "Broken." I just borrow them.

**Relentlessly**

_The broken clock is a comfort_

_It helps me sleep tonight_

_Maybe it can stop tomorrow_

_From stealing all my time_

—The Calling: "Broken"—

Spot Conlon sat in the bunkhouse, leaning against a bedpost, twisting his cap in his hands, watching the seconds tick by. All around him were the sleeping forms of the Brooklyn newsies, oblivious for a blissful moment to the fact that their day was about to begin. Sleep, Spot decided, was a sort of capture of time. You knew nothing of the passing of time when you were sleeping. The only problem was that though you stopped for time, time did not stop for you. It marched on, ignoring pleas and cries for help, for more time, relentlessly moving forward no matter how many times you cried _wait_.

As the seconds ticked by, morning drew closer.

It was morning that Spot was dreading, but there was no way to stop it from coming. He could wish all he wanted, and plead to high heaven, but the sun would still rise, and the world would wake up, and the bell would ring, and the bridge would be waiting. There would be a decision to make, but he already knew what that decision would be. There would be a path to take, but he already knew where that path would lead. There would be a battle to fight, but he already knew how that battle would end. It would end in tears, the tears of the girl he hadn't told, the girl he loved. There was nothing he could do but cry _wait_.

And the seconds ticked by and morning drew closer.

Spot raised his eyes from the floor as sunlight spilled over the windowsill and across the worn floorboards. Dust danced in the early light and there were footsteps on the stairs. The boys around him began to stir. He stood up slowly and slicked back his hair beneath his cap. A bell rang somewhere in the near distance, announcing the morning of another day in New York. Through the second floor window, Spot could just see the top of the Brooklyn Bridge, awaiting judgment and battleground. His boys were ready for the territory war. He had to be. Spot fingered the gold filigree on the tip of his cane and felt the name engraved into the ebony wood. A slow sad smile was replaced with the steely expression his face was most accustomed to as he sauntered down the stairs. Time had not heard him calling _wait_.

As the seconds ticked by, morning drew no closer.

The sun had risen and his time was up. The decision was made, the path was taken, the battle was fought, and the tears were dried. Time seemed to pause for a moment as he slipped through. There was no time left for Spot Conlon.

The next morning, the sun rose as time moved on, refusing to go back and refusing to stop, the seconds ticking by relentlessly.


	4. Always Remember

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Newsies, Spot Conlon, Josh Groban's song "Remember." I just borrow them.

**Always Remember **

_Remember, I will always be here_

_As long as you hold me_

_In your memory_

_Remember me_

—Josh Groban: "Remember"—

I will always remember the shrill whistle of the teakettle early in the morning, and the way the sunlight danced on the floor. I will always remember the scent of bacon drifting from the kitchen and the off key humming that always came with. I will always remember the taste of peppermint tea and the way the giant mug warmed me when he curled my hands around it.

I will always remember the notes he left me when he had to leave early. I will always remember the kisses he gave me when he came home late.

I will always remember the way the moonlight shone on his golden hair and made his skin glow. I will always remember the way we danced on the rooftop at night, when the city was sleeping.

I will always remember his gentleness, and the careful way he handled me. I will always remember the way he silenced me with kisses, and brushed my pain away with his fingertips.

I will always remember the way he held me when I slept, safe in his strong arms. I will always remember how he remained awake until I was asleep, and the way he stroked my hair, humming his out of tune hum. I will always remember waking in the night to watch him sleep, all softness and sweetness.

I will always remember the way he stood before me, protecting me from every adversary. I will always remember the way he held his cane as if it were a sword. I will always remember the way he protected me from my fears.

I will always remember holding his hand, standing in the rain and watching the fireworks in summer. I will always remember our walks in Central Park, the sunsets on the Brooklyn Bridge, and the nights on the docks. I will always remember catching snowflakes with our tongues, and licking chocolate off his upper lip. I will always remember dancing.

I will always remember the way he kissed my tears away when I cried.

I will always remember his bright, cocky smile, and his clear lilting voice, and the way he could always make me laugh. I will always remember his stormy grey eyes, and every expression I saw in them. I will always remember the feel of his lips on mine and the rumble of his laugh. I will always remember the sound of his heartbeat, comforting when he pressed me against his chest. I will always remember the way he entwined his fingers with mine, the way he traced the lines of my face with his rough, gentle hands.

I will always remember the first time I saw him, and the night he didn't come home. I will always remember the day I knew I would never see him again.

I will always remember that he loves me and is waiting on the other side.

I will always remember Spot Conlon.


End file.
